First getting to Buenos Aires I noticed a lot more people with darker skin tones, and hair. And more indigenous features than in cordoba. I’ve noticed getting looked at less going through the bus station which was a little nice. But we are also just getting off of the bus so it could get either better or worse throughout this experience.
I had more photos but thought it would be ethical to not show faces.
My time in Cordoba has been very eventful and full of new experiences. Visiting the Gauchos and riding horses is definitely a memory I will not forget. Admittedly I was very nervous upon arriving at the ranch, but I soon forgot about those nerves upon meeting the puppies and walking around the land. When the first group left on their ride, I stayed behind and helped make empanadas and played with the puppies. When it was my turn to go the nerves returned briefly before we were off on our ride. When we returned we had an asado, and were treated to music from friends of Salvador. This has been one of my favorite experiences so far and I felt really welcomed in this area.
One of the more moving days was our visits to D2 and La Perla, where we got an insight into the experiences of those who were kidnapped or disappeared.
The featured photo for this post depicts a young woman and her presumed daughter analyzing a map of where Argentine people fled during the dictatorship. The woman was naming different places that had lights on them. D2 isn’t particularly large, and I found myself running into these two multiple times. When we made it to the more open area in front of the only two cells D2 has, I saw that there was another woman with the two. They went into one of the cells, and when they came out, I saw tears. Both the women were crying, and they embraced each other before moving on to another room. I have never seen anyone cry like that at a memorial in the United States. I wondered if they had a relative or friend that was disappeared, or if the general devastation of D2 brought them to tears.
Either way, I got a first-hand look at the impact of the “Dirty War” on the Argentine people. There are families still searching for answers about what happened to their loved ones and seeking justice. The trials that began in 2010, while necessary for bringing a sliver of justice to the disappeared, have forced victims to relive their experiences and potentially testify in front of their abuser. Adopted children of the disappeared either have no idea or have to grapple with the trauma of not only being adopted but having parents that were murdered with no chance of raising them. While it is heartening to know that people are actively seeking justice in larger movements, it is hard to imagine the exhaustion of such an endeavor. The author of Nunca Mas notes that some families never even reported their disappeared loved ones for fear of “a resurgence of these evil forces.”
Earlier this week we visited the D2 Detention Center near the Plaza de San Martin. It had formerly operated as a police station prior to the military dictatorship, and a detention center to illegally detain thousands during the dictatorship. The detention center has since been turned into a memorial site to preserve history, and remember those whose lives had been taken away from them by the military dictatorship; whether that be the lives of those who had been disappeared, or the children of the disappeared who have yet to be found. Fernando himself was one of the thousands of kidnapped individuals who had been illegally detained in D2, and was gracious enough to come along and recount his experiences.
Before we even entered the building, Fernando had us stand outside in order to take in our surroundings. We noticed that the center was just outside the plaza, adjacent to the main cathedral, and even visible from the bishop’s home; in other words, D2 was in a very central location in the city where anyone passing by would be able to identify the building. But despite this, we were told that many citizens denied even knowing what was going on in D2 despite it being common knowledge, in fear of speaking out against the military dictatorship.
Not ten steps inside the detention center stood a half-broken wall. We all tried to guess what this might have been, why it was built, and why it was broken down only halfway. After we all threw out our guesses, we were told that this wall was built towards the end of the dictatorship as more survivors began to step forward about their experiences in D2. The wall was built in an attempt to elude any allegations and discredit any survivor who tried to testify. But as more reports began to pour in about the horrible crimes in D2, the wall was broken down to reveal the detention center behind it.
Stepping inside D2 was an extremely somber experience. As Fernando led us through each room in D2, he explained what each room had been used for; one room where detainees were led in when they first arrived, another to hold and “soften them up”, and the bathrooms in the back specifically know as a place where women were commonly taken to be sexually exploited. But as we walked through D2 now, the rooms in which horrible acts of violence had occurred had been dedicated to those who endured the violence. Photos of los desaparecidos filled the walls of D2, and notes and letters from loved ones were left in their honor.
My favorite of these memorial rooms was one where a hundred or so light fixtures hung from the ceiling, but only some had bulbs lit in them and others were empty. The lightbulbs represented each child of los desaparecidos that had been found.
I watched Fernando confidently walk through the rooms of th
e very building he was detained in, and something about this made me very emotional. I saw moments of him in the D2 library holding banned books and teaching the next generation the history he lived through, and in that moment nothing rang truer than “memoria, verdad, y justica”.
I happened to take one picture by chance on our way out of D2, but it spoke volumes to me after taking a closer look. Fernando is walking out of the detention center, through the broken wall, past a police officer, and into the daylight.
A memorial needs to be visually impactful to get the visitors attention. It doesn’t need to be colorful or pretty, a half opened door or other device can draw the viewer. It needs to be informative. The more you can say without words, the better. It needs to be personal. The color action shots of the victims doing every day activities made them seem more like you and ms, more deserving of being remembered. The memorials need to be frequent to keep the memory alive. The memorials done by their friends at local businesses dramatically add to the state sponsored ones to keep the atrocities from being forgotten.
Walking through the city with a few others as we returned from the artist market, we caught sight of this graffiti featuring “Nunca Mas” and the instantly recognizable headscarf of the Madres of the Plaza de Mayo. We had nearly missed it among the other graffiti covering the walls. I found I have learned a lot about the political climate in Còrdoba and the larger country from looking at the messages left as graffiti around the city, plus it has helped me with reading in Spanish. Seeing this and several similar works while out last night made it clear that the terrors of the dictatorship are still on people’s minds, and it has been woven into the fabric of the city. Graffiti is a valuable way of seeing what is on people’s minds in any given place, and is a good art form for processing experiences and advocating for change. It is seen as disruptive when in many cases, that is the point. It is a creative way for anyone to make themselves heard. In “Sources and Expression of Resilience in Trauma Survivors,” Harvey and Tummala-Narra state that resilience and self-healing, while important, is only part of the story for survivors. They are also fighting for justice and change, so what happened to them will not happen again. The phrase Nunca Mas (“never again”), popularized by the 1984 report, and the fight of the Madres encapsulate the importance of not just resilience but justice perfectly.
The prologue of Nunca Mas lists some basic human rights – the right to life, the right to security of person, the right to a trial, the right not to suffer either inhuman conditions of detention, denial of justice , or summary execution. Every day, we enjoy all of these rights. The disappeared enjoyed none of them.
Another right that isn’t mentioned above is the right to property. In Cortazar’s short story House taken over, two women move into smaller and smaller quarters in the house they love until they are finally forced out into the streets. They never see their invaders, but they hear them coming and they fear for their safety. The lose their property and they also lose their right to security of person.
The Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo have worked tirelessly since the late 1970s to reunite families torn apart by the Dirty War, focusing specifically on the children of pregnant women who were imprisoned and later executed. After they were born, many of those children were taken and given to families associated with the military regime.
“Provide your information here to help find the 400 missing grandchildren”
These extraordinary women have embarked on a tireless quest to find their missing grandchildren and to restore their identities. They have endured severe personal risk and fought against a culture of silence that sought to bury the crimes committed during the dictatorship. As Fernando told us, “worse than not wanting to know is wanting not to know.” The women actively fight against this sentiment. This active preservation of memory is a fight that can and should be applied to the U.S. We have much to learn from such organizations that continuously fight for justice, memory, and truth, especially as we reckon with the many human rights violations happened and continue to happen in our home country.
The abuelas organized protests, held marches and vigils in the Plaza de Mayo, and fiercely advocated for human rights here in Argentina. They gathered and meticulously documented evidence, utilizing DNA testing and collaborating with international organizations to identify and locate the stolen children. They continue to do so today.
Memorial tree from the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo
At the D2 detention center, there is a courtyard with a tree in the center. Above the tree is a grid, from it hang down extension cords. Some of the cords hold lightbulbs and many do not. We learned that this display is a visual representation of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo’s search for the taken children. Every child that has been found is marked by a bright lightbulb. The rest who have yet to be found have empty cords.
Somewhere in the former detention center lies a collection of lightbulbs waiting to be plugged in to a cord; somewhere in the world are the taken children, now grown up, who have yet to be found by the abuelas.
lightbulbs represent found children
Argentina’s turbulent history during the military dictatorship left deep scars on the nation’s collective memory. A visit to La Perla, a notorious site of torture and murder during the Dirty War in Argentina, shed light on the deep impact of the suffering there and the resilience following the human rights violations.
The body has memory
I translate this quote as the following:
“The body has memory, traces, marks that are there, that appear if called upon. Even if we do not think of them, the body reacts by bringing them forth. Memory surrounds, permeates, from the inside and outside.”
Photographs commemorating women who were killed at La Perla
This evocative quote, hung on a flag commemorating the many women whose lives were taken at La Perla, encapsulates the idea that the body itself carries the weight of traumatic memory. Even when forgotten or suppressed, it lives on in the body. The quote reflects the profound connection between memory and the physical self, highlighting the deep impact of trauma on individuals. For me, this quote evoked the salience of epigenetics. Broadly, epigenetics is the study of changes in gene expression that can occur without alterations in the underlying DNA sequence. It explains how environmental factors– such as traumatic experiences– can impact gene expression and, subsequently, influence physical and mental health outcomes.
“Many stars no longer exist. But their light keeps reaching us.”
The notion that the body carries memory and that it reacts by bringing forth these memories aligns with the idea that trauma can leave lasting imprints on an individual’s epigenome. These epigenetic changes can occur not only in the individual who experienced the trauma directly but also in their germ cells, which are responsible for passing genetic information to future generations. The quote’s emphasis on the body’s memory and the notion that memory surrounds and permeates from the inside and outside coalesces with the idea that trauma can leave an indelible mark on future generations. Put simply, women who endure trauma can physiologically pass this experience of trauma onto their offspring.
Mary R. Harvey (2007) explores the sources and expressions of resilience among trauma survivors. While not specific to Argentina, the concepts that Harvey presents offer insight into the strength and adaptability of individuals who have faced immense adversity such as the women in La Perla. The article examines the individual characteristics, social support systems, coping mechanisms, and personal beliefs that contribute to resilience. It reveals how trauma survivors can harness their inner strength and create a sense of purpose and meaning.
Resilience as explored by Harvey offers a glimmer of hope. It demonstrates the inherent strength of people; it explains people’s capacity to heal, rebuild, and transcend the oppressive legacy of intergenerational trauma. The resilience exhibited by survivors of atrocities, including those who survived the horrors of La Perla, exemplifies the indomitable spirit of humans.
Reconciling Harvey’s article with the above quote and the experiences of those in La Perla, for me, evokes the multidimensionality of trauma and resilience. It invites us to reflect on the interplay between memory, trauma, inherited experiences, and the human capacity to overcome and thrive. As we as students work to strive for a better future, it is vital for us to acknowledge both the suffering and the resilience of survivors.
We visited a beautiful town named Cumbercita. This town reminds me of a place where Smurfs would live. I was taken away by the beauty of nature. We all gathered at one of the streams, where we sat and enjoyed lunch. My favorite part was seeing the waterfall and having a chance to reflect and Thank God for all he has created for my eyes to witness.
